


Against the Odds

by SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, Hospitals, Murder/Suicide, Recovery, Season 3 Finale, Service Dogs, Will Graham and Molly, Will Needs a Hug, Will also needs a nap, Will and Molly need to be happy, Will needs to be happy, serious injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro/pseuds/SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro
Summary: Will had thrown himself and Hannibal off the cliff, but hadn't intended to survive it. Hannibal is dead, Dolarhyde is dead, and Will is barely alive. Molly has to try everything she can to pull his head back above the water, and get him back on solid ground again, even as everything weighs him and he fights against her the whole time.TRIGGER WARNING: story includes attempted suicide, heavy alcohol addiction, and various adult themes.
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished Hannibal, and read the Red Dragon, then realized there is no more Will Graham content and that’s just not acceptable.   
> Also not a big fan of how the writers say season 4 would’ve gone, or the idea that Will decided it was better to run away with Hannibal, faking their own death, and go on killing sprees. So here’s my take on what would’ve happened if the series continued from where it left off, with Will throwing himself and Hannibal over the cliff. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: suicide attempts, heavy depression, alcoholism, cursing, severe injuries.

Molly had been waiting for hours in the police station, anxious to hear from anyone that this was all over. She had sent Walter to his grandparents for a few days, deciding it would be safest for him there. A police escort assured he got there safely. Now the only one she had left to worry about was Will, who was off playing the bait once again, with two killers who already had it out for him. The mission was supposed to have ended hours ago, and Jack had raced out of the department with several others but no one told her anything. She needed an answer, and as soon as possible. 

It was well after dark when she finally heard something. Alana had come into the office. Molly didn’t know her well, but knew she had been one of those whom Will had once considered a friend. And the look on her face was not one of success. 

“Molly, let’s sit down.” She said, gently leading Molly into one of the offices. Molly had a brief flashback of a doctor telling her the same thing, when he broke the news that her husband had cancer and didn’t have more than a few months left. They sat next to each other on the couch, and Alana turned so she could face Molly. Molly had to turn too, since her wounded shoulder made it more difficult to just turn her head. 

“The plan didn’t exactly go as planned. We don’t know the whole story, only that the guards and the escort were killed, and one cop car was stolen. Dolarhyde was killed, we know that for sure. Two fishermen in the Atlantic pulled two bodies from the water. One was Hannibal, the other...was Will. Will was life-flighted to the hospital, still alive when they found him. Hannibal is dead.” Alana said it mostly with the professionalism of someone who’s told people hard things all the time, though her voice shook when she mentioned Will. Molly was shaking, in tears. 

“Is he alive?” She asked quietly, unable to make her voice louder than a whisper. 

“Yes.” Alana nodded. “Jack is at the hospital now waiting to hear more. But last I heard, Will is still alive. There’s a car waiting outside to take us to the hospital. Is there anything-”

“Lets go now.” Molly was already up and heading towards the door. Alana hurried after her, and the two women climbed into the waiting police vehicle, which sped off to the hospital with full lights and sirens until they arrived, and were brought into the ERs waiting room. 

“They haven’t given me any updates yet.” Jack said by way of greeting. He had been pacing the room when they arrived. 

For hours, the three waited in silence. Sometimes pacing the room, sometimes sitting lost in thought. Other people came and went, most minding their own business, others giving sympathetic looks to the tear-stained face of Molly and the obvious stress in Jack and Alana. Finally, as the sun was beginning to come up, a doctor came in.

“Graham?”

“Right here.” Molly had already been pacing, and the other two stood up. 

The doctor came over, gesturing for them to sit down. Molly’s stomach was churning with anxiety, fearing that she might be able to hear those words again,  _ ‘your husband died on the table, and we couldn’t bring him back.’  _ She wasn’t sure she could handle hearing it again.

“He’s still alive.” The doctor began, knowing that was the most important information at the moment. There was a collective sigh of relief. “However, he is not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Along with hypothermia, we found two stab wounds, one on his face and the other in his chest. They missed any vital organs or arteries. However, he also has multiple broken bones and fractures, and a concussion. His pelvis, left shoulder, and five broken ribs. There are several spinal fractures as well.” 

The doctor sighed, and looked down a few seconds before back up at the trio sitting in front of him. “These are some extensive, serious injuries. The chances of him making it through the day are pretty slim. And if he does make it, there’s a pretty good chance that he might never fully recover from these injuries.” 

“Can we see him?” Molly asked, barely able to make the words come out. She could barely register what the doctor just said. 

“Yes. But he’s in a medically induced coma right now. It’s whats giving him the best chance at surviving.” The doctor stood, and lead the way down the hall to the elevator, and up to the ICU floor. He opened the door and stood to the side to let them in. The only reason the doctor was allowing all three in was because he didn’t think this Will Graham was going to make it through the next few hours. If this was the end for the guy, he wanted his friends to get that last chance to say goodbye. 

Walking into the room was like entering a different world. The lights were dimmed and the curtains closed, the only lights coming from the hallway and the many machines hooked up to the form laying on the bed. Will’s face was bandaged, so only one eye was visible. His curly hair was crusted with salt and blood, and the small bit of his face that was visible was relaxed in a way he had never been before. A ventilator breathed for him, a heart monitor beeped quietly, and an IV pumped fluids into him. A heated blanket lay over his body, tucked up high around his shoulders. His body temperature read normal on the screen, but Molly knew that the type of cold from being soaking went in the winter doesn’t just go away with a heated blanket. He had probably been cold to his bones, and the only way to warm up was a hot shower.

She sat in the chair by his head, using her good arm to grab his right hand. She couldn’t find words to say. She was exhausted from the past few days of being in the hospital herself, and the stress of waiting to hear that Wally was with his grandparents, and then of waiting for this plan to finish, and now this, staying up all night waiting to hear if her husband was going to survive. And now he was alive, but he still might not make it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions of suicide
> 
> Also, sorry for any typos or mistakes. I haven't really written much in several years, and wrote most of this pretty late at night

For a full month, Will was laying comatose in that ICU bed. Falling into water was like falling onto concrete, especially from the height he had fallen from. Add in the rocks, and it was a miracle he was even alive. Jack Crawford had made sure there was enough security around the room to keep Freddie Lounds away. After she had gotten into the hospital when Hannibal had sliced Will open, he wasn’t taking any risks with more of those stunts. Freddie had shown up the day after Will had been pulled from the water and tried to get in. Jack had stopped her, trying to use anything he could to keep her away. 

“The guy isn’t even conscious, just leave him alone. Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll give you an interview when he’s awake.” Even Jack knew it would be more believable to say Florida would be buried under three feet of snow in the middle of July, but it was worth a shot. 

“And,” he added, “His wife has put an order of protection out against you. If you get near them, you will be arrested. All the doctors know what you look like, and have been told to not let you anywhere near the ICU.” 

Her annoyed look shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did.

  
  


Molly spent every day sitting in the room with him, talking about whatever came to mind, giving him updates on the dogs, on Wally, on whatever light subject she could think about. Her shoulder continued to heal, but it seemed like life was frozen, completely still.

After two weeks, Molly had brought Wally back from his grandparents. They were staying with Alana and Margot and their son, so they could be close to the hospital if anything happened. 

Nurses had been coming in and out of the room regularly, every hour, ever since he came into the ICU. They would very carefully move him and adjust how he was laying so he wouldn’t get sores. Nurses would give him sponge baths regularly, talking to him the whole time about whatever Molly said he would be most interested in -usually their dogs. The bandage around his face was removed. They changed the catheter regularly to avoid any infections. It was during one of those changes that they began to suspect he would wake up soon, as he made a small sound of discomfort and seemed to try to move away from them. And then, not too long after, at around 1am, he began to buck the ventilator. Things seemed to move quickly after that. A doctor came in and after checking the vitals and running basic tests, decided to remove the tube and take him off the ventilator. Will continued to breathe on his own. An hour later, his face began to twitch a bit, he began to make small grunts or hums, and his eyelids twitched in way of someone dreaming. At 3am, his eyes fluttered open for a just a few seconds, and he looked at the nurse who was checking his IV. 

She caught it, and instantly changed her attention. 

“Mr. Graham, can you hear me? Just blink if you can, don’t try to speak yet.” She instructed, being careful to speak gently but clearly. Slowly his eyes closed, then opened again after a few seconds. It seemed to take an immense amount of effort, but it was surely a blink. 

“Do you know where you are?” She asked. “Two blinks for yes, one for no.” 

He gave her a single blink, and she waited a few seconds to see if he would continue. He didnt.

“Thats okay. You’re in the hospital. You fell off a cliff, about 300 feet high, into the water. Two fishermen pulled you out of the water and you were life-flighted to hospital. You’ve been in a coma for about a month. Do you understand?” 

Another two blinks. The nurse gave him a smile, and put a hand on the non-broken shoulder. 

“Are you in any pain? Two blinks for yes, one for no.” She said. He blinked twice. They seemed a little faster now, as he became more aware. 

“Ok, I’m going to give you some more morphine.” She left the room and came back a few seconds later with Will’s doctor in tow. By this point, Will was already falling back to sleep, the effort of having answered questions taking a huge toll on him. The doctor took a little pen light and checked his eyes, recording the vitals from the machines and listened to his lungs. When he gave the nurse a nod, she injected the morphine into his IV and soon Will was passed out again. 

They called Molly a few minutes later, after triple checking that everything was still ok. It was 3:45am. 

Molly answered the phone right away, and was throwing on clothes and rushing out of the door after giving Walter a kiss and telling him she would be back soon but that she had to go check on Will.

By now, the doctors knew her and so they didn’t ask any questions when she came rushing from the elevator and hurrying to his room. When she got to his room, there wasn’t much to really show he was awake. The ventilator was out, though tubes still went into his nose. His breathing was just a bit faster than it had been. A nurse was just coming out, and put a hand up to block Molly. 

“He just fell asleep, but he was awake and answering questions just a few minutes ago. Not speaking, but blinking for yes or no. We gave him a dose of morphine for the pain.” She told her, then stepped out of the way. 

Molly hurried in and took her normal chair, grabbing his right hand again and giving it a small squeeze. “I’m right here, Hotshot, I’ll be right here when you wake up..” She told him, brushing his hair out of his face with her other hand. The idea of him waking up again after so long of laying so still, Molly feared she had forgotten the exact shade of his eyes or the sound of his voice, his facial expressions, all the little things that she had come to learn and love about him. The scar on his face was ugly. There was no other way to describe it. It was red and angry looking, just under his eye. The stitches were mostly gone, but a few were still holding the middle together. She couldn’t see the stab wound in his chest, because the blankets were pulled high, but she knew it wouldn’t look much better. 

He had so many scars. Some on his hands from things he enjoyed, like fishing or fixing engines. Typical ‘man scars’ she had called them once, when they had first laid together and he had finally felt comfortable -and drunk- enough to explain them all. There was another stabbing scar on his other arm from when he worked Homicide in New Orleans; an old scar from a dog bite on his right calf, the long one from when Hannibal had tried to cut him in half, a scar from Jack’s bullet, a scar from his colostomy, and now there would be two more added to the long list. The man who hated attention would suddenly be the center of attention, as people stared at his face and asked what happened. He wouldn’t get the peace he so desperately craved. 

~

It took 3 days before he finally spoke. He would wake up every few hours, blink his yes or no answer to whatever questions he was asked, and sometimes make a small sound in his sleep but otherwise, he was silent. Molly tried to be with him as much as possible, but wouldn’t bring Wally in yet until Will was ready to have a young child in the room. Thankfully, the updates Molly brought seemed enough to keep Wally satisfied for now. Once or twice, Alana came with Molly to see him. 

Molly was sitting with him one day, quietly reading a book while he slept, and didn’t realize he had woken up until he spoke.

“Mmmm….Molly??” His voice was very weak, scratchy and shaky, but she heard it and nearly dropped her book. 

“Right here, Hotshot.” She grabbed his right hand and rubbed her thumb over his fingers, as he slowly turned his head slightly to look at her. He gave a small half smile when he finally spotted her there, before his eyes closed again for a few minutes. She thought for a few minutes, that he may have fallen asleep again, but then he squeezed her hand. 

She couldn’t really help the next question. It came out before she could stop herself. At least she knew where Walter got it from. 

“What happened, Will? How did you end up in the water, and Dolarhyde dead, what happened?”

He frowned, and she watched his mouth tremble and a few tears actually breaking free from his eyes, before the words were finally forced out. She could barely hear them. 

_ “I tried to kill myself.” _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. Also sorry it might suck. But hey, at least it's an update, lol  
> Leave a comment, leave some suggestions, share it with your friends!
> 
> Also, shamelessly Advertising my other other stories.   
> Most are one-shots or collections of one shots!

Hearing those words filled Molly with such rage, she wasn’t sure how she had managed to keep it from Will. She had wanted to scream, wanted to punch someone, wanted to cry, all things she couldn’t do in front of him because it wouldn’t help him. Somehow, she stayed calm the rest of the time she sat with him. She told him how glad she was he was still alive, how happy Wally was and how much he wanted to come see Will, anything good she could think of about how he was still here. Meanwhile, she was planning many things she would be saying to Jack Crawford. 

Will didn’t say anything else. He seemed to choke on any other words, but the misery on his face was enough to say it all. She stayed with him until he fell back to sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer and when the doctor came back in, told them that he might still be suicidal. 

In the hall, she saw Jack. It was 7am, and he was coming down after having heard from one of the nurses that Will was talking. Normally, Molly was not a confrontational person. The less conflict, the better. However, she couldn’t help herself when she pulled her hand back and slapped him right across the face. He stepped back looking surprised, and a few nurses and doctors glanced over to see if they should step in. 

“ _ You did this to him.” _ Molly practically growled at him. “He told me jumped off that cliff with Hannibal because he was trying to kill himself.  _ You  _ dragged him into that case,  _ knowing _ it would damage him!” 

“I didn’t know it would cause him to get suicidal-”

“After everything you witnessed happen to him when you first brought him on the field, knowing he was unstable the whole time, and you didn’t think it would make him suicidal? What kind of FBI agent are you?! You’re supposed to in the behavioral science unit, you should know the signs!”

“M’am, we’re going to have to ask you to be quiet-” A doctor tried to interrupt, but Molly ignored him. 

“I swear, Jack Crawford, if you dare try to bring him in on another case, I’ll murder you myself. Get your report for this one if you have to, but then  _ leave us alone.”  _ Molly growled, and then stormed past him and into the ladies room to collect herself. This was going to be a very long, very difficult road to recovery. 

~~

Will was in the hospital for another month, after some extra complications came up with his recovery. A reaction to one medication made it impossible for him to hold down any food, causing rather violent vomiting that in turn made the recovery of his ribs, collar bone, and back much slower. The amount of damage and weakness caused by that, along with the constant pain from all the injuries, and the struggle of finding the right balance of medication caused them to keep him a little longer than normal. Pain medication, antidepressants, antibiotics, something to ease his stomach, and they found something a little stronger than excedrin for his headaches and migraines. 

Finally, after about a month after he woke up, he was discharged. Molly had told him already they would be staying with Alana and Margo. Not only would the stairs in their cabin in the woods be too much an issue, but they would be far from any medical attention he may need. It had taken a while for Alana to convince Molly it wasn’t an issue. But the Verger family had their massive mansion, their own medical team (new people after Mason’s death), and elevators. 

They had made the Verger business much better. They still bred and slaughtered pigs, but it was done more humanely now. The pigs had good lives all the way up until they were slaughtered in the most humane way possible. Ideally, when their son Thomas got older and took over, he would get rid of the slaughter house idea. They mostly now rescued horses, donkeys, goats, and other livestock. They were in the process of turning the extra rooms into a safe house for abused women and children. With Alana’s background in psychiatry, and Margot taking classes in equine-assisted therapy, they were remaking the Verger name. And it would be the perfect place for Will to get back on his feet. 

Will still couldn’t walk on his own, not without risking further damaging his spine and pelvis. He spent most of that first month out of the hospital laying in bed, and more often than not pretending to be asleep whenever someone who wasn’t Molly or the doctors entered the room. He denied this of course, but Molly could see right through it. While most of the time he was actually asleep, she could tell when he was faking to avoid conversation.

When he wasn’t sleeping, he would just stare at the ceiling in silence, almost in a complete trance. He got out of bed only to use the bathroom towards the end of the month when the catheter was finally removed and it was safe for him to stand again. Molly would help him shower and get dressed, but neither would speak during the process, Will because he was in too much pain and Molly because she didn’t know what she could possibly say. 

His depression was getting worse, not better, since they had arrived at the Verger home. He barely ate, barely spoke, and had very little interest in any of the physical therapy the doctors encouraged him to do. The only time he seemed to have any energy at all was when the dogs were allowed in the room. Winston especially, though his face was beginning to turn gray and he was slower with his movements, who spent every minute of his day with Will. It had taken some time to convince the doctors that the dogs were Will’s best chance, and the compromise was to only allow one to stay with him, while the others could visit one or two at a time. Winston kept them in place, growling at them if they got too rowdy or tried to get on the bed. He was the only dog allowed on the bed. 

Finally, Alana had enough of it. She was tired of watching Will waste away and die in front of her. She pushed open the door one day, pushing a wheelchair in.

“Wake up! You’re going outside today!” She announced loudly, throwing open the curtains. Light spread across the room, making Will squint and groan and Winston sigh. 

“I don’t want to.” Will muttered, pulling the blankets back up over his face. 

“Nope, as your psychiatrist, I’m not giving you a choice. You’re going outside.” Alana pulled the blankets away, and pretended to not notice the uneaten breakfast tray sitting on the nightstand. “Did you take your meds already?” She asked, grabbing a pair of socks from his dresser, and pulling them onto his feet. He couldn’t bend well enough to do it himself. 

“Yes.” He answered. The doctors watched him take them every morning. They were still concerned he might try to take too much or not take them at all. Molly had helped him shower earlier in the day, and had him dressed in loose pajama pants and a T-shirt that had once fit him well but now hung off his too-thin frame. Alana dug through the closet until she found a sweatshirt. She helped him sit up, not giving him much choice in the matter, and helped him put the jacket on.

Helping him into the wheelchair was a little more challenging. He had barely left the bed for so long, and was very weak. Not to mention, painful. Every movement was slow and stiff, but she didn’t rush him. She could remember what it was like when she broke her back after Abigail pushed her out of Hannibal’s window all those years ago. She had recovered surprisingly quickly after that, because she had had the motivation to get better, the support she needed, and was healthy in general. Will’s spinal fractures and the broken ribs made almost all movement incredibly painful. It took about a full 5 minutes to get him in the chair because she had to let him rest several times and catch his breath. But finally she had him in the chair. His face was red with the effort, and he was sweating and breathing hard. She made it a point to take a little extra time to find a suitable blanket to put on his lap, so he would have the time to collect himself. Winston was sitting beside him, ready to go. With the blanket folded, she laid it over him and he instantly pulled it up to cover his shoulders too. It wasn’t that it was very cold, it was just mid fall. But he was so thin that anything below 80 degrees left him feeling chilled. 

She rolled him out of the room and down the halls, and the whole time, he never spoke a word. She almost wondered if he was falling asleep again, but heard him mumble a curse as the wheel bumped over the tiny ledge of the ramp that lead to the outside. Obviously, that little bit of jarring was uncomfortable. But she didn’t let that stop her. The path that lead from the house to the barn was paved, but a few little pebbles were in the way and there was no way to avoid them all. By the time they got to the barn, Will’s hands where clenching the armrests with white knuckles, teeth clenched and his annoyance at being forced out of his bed even more visible on his face. 

But once they were in the barn, the aisleway was smooth, nothing big enough to cause the chair to bump around. The barn was warm, full of the soft sounds of horses munching hay and swishing tails at whatever flies still buzzed around. There were a few nickers as some of the more curious horses looked up in search of treats. Alana brought the chair up to the door of one of the stalls, where a pretty black and white horse, who’s head was mostly black with a bit of ginger around her nose, as if she had dusted it with copper eyeshadow. She had the same red-ish color around her eyes, like eyeliner. She poked her head out of the stall instantly, sticking her nose right in Will’s face and huffing. 

Will pulled back, a little surprised, but the horse didn’t react. She nearly lifted her head a little to sniff his hair briefly, before turning her attention to Alana. 

“Hey, Whiskey girl. This is Will. Another fan of whiskey.” She said, rubbing the mare’s nose. 

“I prefer my whiskey in a glass.” Will grumbled. 

“Of course you do.” Alana waved it off, and moved on. She brought him through the rows of stalls, stopping at certain ones. They all did about the same thing, sniffing his hair and face, one or two even gently nuzzling his hair and a donkey even pulled the blanket a bit. For at least an hour, Alana took him through the barn. There were horses, of all shapes and sizes; donkeys, some chickens, a stall with baby goats that were almost ready to go outside into the bigger goat area. She wouldn’t take him out there yet, because she didn’t think he could handle goats jumping all over him. 

He seemed a little more relaxed by the end, even had a small, almost there smile on his face when a late-season foal peeked out at him from behind it’s mom’s legs. She could tell he was also getting tired and uncomfortable, however, so she decided to head back inside. The last thing she needed was for him to get sick or hurt himself further while he was out here. 

She wheeled him back inside and to his room, helping him into the bathroom first. She waited outside the door for him to give him privacy, and rolled him back to his bed once he was ready. She helped him get back into his bed and tucked under the blankets, and he was asleep before she was even out of the room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter, but beginnings are always hard.   
> Now I'll shamelessly ask for some reviews and comments, because I thrive on them


End file.
